


Lit

by beaubete



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-08
Updated: 2012-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 15:17:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2274603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beaubete/pseuds/beaubete
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something I found in the dark of my early days on tumblr: Rose meets a literary figure.  It's a little different than she'd expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lit

He sits across from her in the narrow booth, the mound of chips between them nearly up to her eyebrows.  She’s thin—not pencil-thin, a healthy kind of thin that somehow brings out the youth in her movements—she’s not lying, she doesn’t do this often.  Or it could be the running.  There’s been a lot of running since these mysterious two have shown up.  He cringes; he sounds like Sherlock.

“You not eating?  The chips here are, like, wow,” Rose says, using one to point at him before popping it in her mouth.  “You can’t get stuff like this on Raxacoricofallapatorius.”

“You made that one up,” John says, eyeing the pile of greasy food.

“Nope.  Never been there, myself, but I’m pretty sure you can’t get chips there,” she admits.  “Dunno, though—those Slitheen were pretty foul.  Huge, wobbly bits of green blob farting all over the place.”  Her nose wrinkles.  It’s cute, he thinks, but he’s got ten years on her if he’s got a day.  Though with the way she looks at the guy she’s with sometimes….

“So all of time and space,” he says blandly. 

“And it’s bigger on the inside,” she agrees.

A smile tugs at the corner of his lips.  “Sherlock’s probably losing him mind right now.”

“Y’know how weird it is to sit here with you and talk like you’re real?” Rose’s mouth splits into a wide, disbelieving grin.  “You!  Sherlock Holmes and Baker Street and all that.  But you’re not really Watson, are you?” 

John’s head tips to the side.  “Why not?” he asks.  She’s made it clear that he and Sherlock are characters in a book in her universe—and it’s a testament to how strange life with Sherlock has made his life that he can even think that sentence with a straight face—and for a moment he wonders  if the book version of himself is more dashing, more impressive, more…well, more.

“Well, ‘cause you’re fit,” she says finally, flushing and glancing around the room.  “Watson’s not fit, he’s portly and dependable and you’re.  Not,” she finishes lamely.

“You don’t know how dependable I am,” he offers.  She just flushes further, sinking into her plate in mortification.


End file.
